


Sticky Hands

by OhSlashy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Sexual Content, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:58:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhSlashy/pseuds/OhSlashy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little boys need to be taught a certain lesson. Theon thinks of the the things he taught Robb, and the things he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Hands

_“Little boys need to be taught a certain lesson,” Theon had told him. Robb had been little then, just one-and-ten with soft, slim limbs. Theon was sixteen, tall and lean; a man grown to Robb’s eyes. He’d been telling him things. Things that made Robb blush and snigger, made his eyes grow wide and his skin hot._

_He had looked so bold, sprawled on his bed with the laces of his shirt a mess, the planes of chest heaving where his collar fell apart. As he spoke his hips had made these small undulations, implicit little thrusts that drew the eye. He told Robb what it was to feel your cock swell, to have the pleasure milked out of it. He told him what a girl could do with her mouth, what she could with what lay between her legs. He told him what he liked to do to himself, when there were no girls about. And all the while he smiled, his eyes closed and hips shifting as though seeking something._

_Then, when the stars began to fade and the moon made its descent, they found what they were looking for. One finger had traced the outline of his cock, large beneath his leggings. There’d been a groan and his head had fallen back. “Watch and learn,” he’d whispered._

_Later, Robb would show Theon what he’d learnt. He’d lie back where Theon had lain and the son of the kraken would crawl over him. He’d whisper in his ear what a clever boy he was. One knee would nudge his legs apart when Robb was too far gone to care. And he’d tell him that there was more that he could teach him._

\--

“Theon, stay.” 

Robb’s tall now and strong; he was never as tall or strong as Theon but given half a chance he would have been. Cold night air creeps through the flaps of his tent and torchlight flickers. Robb places one boot on the table and tilts his chair back. 

“Your Grace.”

The Lady Catelyn hovers at the mouth of the tent but Robb juts his chin and she’s away. 

Theon likes Robb best in the gloom with fire in his hair and shadows in his eyes. In the sun he’s pure and strong. In the dark he’s Theon’s. 

“Your father,” Robb begins. He digs his thumb nail into the table and doesn’t ask Theon to sit. “Do you suppose… he could be persuaded unto my cause?”

\--

_Theon didn’t ever touch him (at first), not like he touched himself. Robb was still a boy and Theon still a captive. He wasn’t doing anything wrong if he didn’t touch him. Ned Stark couldn’t have his head for telling Robb to sit back on his fingers. So Theon would lie back and slip a hand into his breeches. He’d watch the little lord fumble between his thighs and once, if he’d leant over to help, it had only been his knuckles he pressed._

_Robb outgrew that like he outgrew his fist. There was a serving wench just flowered. Theon told him what to say and watched him pull her behind the stables. She could touch him. She touched him with her mouth and what lay between her legs and Theon touched himself._

_Later Robb had asked him: “do you think of me when you’re with your whores?”_

_“Why, do you?”_

_Robb had smiled at Theon like Theon smiled at him._

_“Oh, that’s right, you don’t have whores.” Theon hadn’t been looking at him but at the ceiling. “You have _Jeyne Poole_.” _

_Robb’s smile had widened. “And _you_ have whores.”_

_Theon hadn’t replied but after a moment he had heard the chink of metal on metal. Robb was sat on his desk, fiddling with his kraken brooches._

_Theon had leapt up from the bed, crossed the room and snatched them from him._

_“So do you?” Robb had asked. His legs had fallen apart slightly and he’d tilted his head to look up at him. “Think of me… when you’re with your whores?”_

_So Theon would teach him how to keep his mouth shut. He’d teach him with tongue and teeth. He’d teach him to lick, little lessons at the nape of his neck and the curve of his spine. Then Robb would teach him to bite, he’d teach him the hollow of Theon’s throat, the jut of his hipbone, the crease of his thigh._

_And Theon would teach the serving girl to keep her hands to herself._

\--

“My father…” Theon’s fingers glide along the nape of Robb’s neck. “He is not easily...” his breath plays against Robb’s ear, " _persuaded_. No mere letter would suffice, your grace.” His mouth presses against Robb’s hair from where he stands, behind the boy’s chair. 

“Then you will go to him?” Robb asks.

They say Theon smiles like he has a secret. Secretly he’s in love with his king. “I will do this thing for you, your grace. When do I leave?”

He speaks too quickly, too eagerly.

Robb stands and stalks into the shadows at the back of his tent, where his bed lies. 

\--

_When they crowned him king of the north Theon thought he looked a man grown. Robb all but took his breath away, covered with glory as men hollered his name. The thought crossed his mind, if only for a moment, that maybe he’d taught him too much. But when Robb looks at him he drops to his knees and tells him,_ now and always.

_Later he’ll kneel again and find that Robb has learnt a lot. He’s learnt how to last; learnt how to place a hand at the back of Theon’s head; he’s learnt how to moan._

_Later Theon would show him how much more he has to teach. He’d teach him how to take it on his knees; he’d teach him to muffle his cries into the pillow; he’d teach him to beg. Then he’d teach him how to take it legs spread; to bite his knuckles; to arch up and send ribbons into the air. And if he’d taught Robb too much it was only because Theon couldn’t help himself. Because then he’d teach Robb to climb on top of him, to hold him down and kiss him hard._

\--

Robb’s angry now. He’s lying back on the furs of his bed, tracing the outline of his cock. “Little boys need to be taught a certain lesson,” he says, mimicking the words Theon said to him, all those years ago. “Oh, Robb. Stick a hand down your pants. Shove your fingers up inside you. Turn around so I can see. That’s it, what a clever boy.”

He pins Theon under him. 

“You make me sick,” he spits. “I was one-and-ten.”

“You were an eager slut for one-and-ten, your grace,” Theon says. 

Robb’s hand closes around his throat. “What is it you want, Theon? My favour?”

“Is that what you call it?” Theon whispers because he can’t tell Robb he wants more than that, he wants everything, all of Robb and all to himself.

Robb’s breath is hot on his lips, fingers gripping his jaw hard enough to bruise. He can feel the Young Wolf’s balls heavy on his stomach.

“Do you like boys, Theon?” Robb whispers. 

“Do you, your grace?”

Robb raises an eyebrow. “I like girls as well.”

“Don’t forget your wife, your grace.”

Robb bares his teeth and his fingers fist his shirt. “Give me your loyalty,” he snarls. 

Theon slams him onto his back. “Give me your love,” he spits back.

\--

_When the royal court had come to Winterfell Robb and the crown prince fought. Theon had had to drag him away. He’d pushed him up against a wall and murmured, “Robb,” deep in his throat._

_The boy had fallen still at his voice, though he continued to pant heavily. Theon had seen the way his brows drew together, had seen the sweat glistening at his temple. He’d smiled and shifted his hips, pressing his mouth there._

_Robb had stiffened in his grip. When the implicit roll of his hips had threatened explicitness he’d shoved back, throwing Theon away from him._

_“A child am I?” the boy had demanded._

_Theon’s grin had widened. “You are a child.” He’d taken Robb’s jaw between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head up. Clear blue eyes had flashed like a storm. “Don’t fear, though, my Lord. I intend to make you a man.”_

_He’d tilted his head in. As always Robb had flinched, once, twice. Theon had had to seize his mouth with his own, pushing tongue past lips till the boy sighed._

\--

Robb sighs his name as he sleeps. He rolls over looking half a boy. One arm latches around Theon’s shoulders and he shuffles up close to him. The scent of sweat, dirt and blood rolls off his skin. Theon’s arm is under him, tucking the boy against his chest. _He has all of Robb to himself tonight,_ he thinks, _and what’s yours, you can give away._

\--

Later Theon will think of all the things he didn’t teach Robb. He never taught him how to grow tall and strong. He never taught him that jealousy is poison not play, that it corrupts a man; that it is death to love. He never taught him the ways of war, the treachery that seeps through the cracks on the oars of the Iron Men. He never taught him the art of suspicion. He never taught him where to place his trust.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
